


TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

by 0_Ruthless_0



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_Ruthless_0/pseuds/0_Ruthless_0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

### Prologue: Telling Tales

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing to do with BtVS, and I’ve only recently discovered Dr Who, so I obviously don’t own that either. Well, not unless someone unearths a long-lost will, and an even more unlikely family tree…

A.N. A fair warning, although this is probably clear from the prologue -This fic is not going to be some nice, happy jaunt through time. It _will_ be dark.

[](http://s278.photobucket.com/albums/kk117/M_T_Twitter/My%20Fanart/X-Over%20fanart/?action=view&current=04LegendsTARDISversion.jpg)   
** Legends of the Lords **

**Prologue: Telling Tales**

She looked at the Doctor, for a few moments, and shivered in the bone-deep chill of the pitch-black night. Usually there were two moons visible, but tonight was a dark matter eclipse, a once in a thousand year event, which meant that the entire planet, for the majority of the night would be as black as the womb. 

Some thirty minutes before dawn, due to the reaction of the matter with the spectrum of light from the sun there was said to be a pin wheeling of colors across the sky, but the Doctor didn’t know for certain. There was something that kept the planet Terantius bouncing back and forth between several different Time coordinates, so he’d never pinpointed the eclipse before, and in fact, had only stumbled across it by accident.

The dark matter absorbed every particle of light that touched it, so the Doctor had decided that the best option was to stay for the night.

He could feel it as her heart-rate quickened, could feel the molecules that made her up vibrating a little faster as the shiver passed through her, so he took off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

She knew that if sight had been possible then her breath would be visible as a white puff of steam rising from her mouth.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before she spoke again, “This is the sort of night that kids tell each other to watch out for the boogie-man on.”

The Doctor frowned slightly, although the gesture was lost.

“So, tell me Doctor, what sort of boogie-man did the Time Lords have? Or did they even have any at all?”

“Not many. And even fewer that really stand out, that stay with you.”

“Tell me a tale, Doctor.”

She settled back against him, closed her eyes for a few moments, grateful for his non-human warmth, as she listened to the rhythmic thud of his two hearts. Almost automatically he slipped an arm around her shoulder. There was another minute of silence, before he began to speak.

“There was a legend, back on Gallifrey, of a man, a Time Lord, well before my time,” he smiled slightly, at his turn of phrase, before he carried on, “They said that he was mad. They said that his first title was the Researcher, even though it didn’t really fit him. He brought chaos, and destruction, and death to over a thousand different galaxies, to over a million different sentient species, over hundreds of different time periods. The stories say that he managed to time lock his own actions so that no one could cross his time line in order to stop him.

“And that he did it simply for the sake of it, just because he could. It wasn’t a hunger for power, or a need for revenge, or anything of the sort that drove him; he just did it because the chance was there. When Time Lords began to look into, and after human history, then the legends say that he took another name; that he chose his new title calling himself after a particularly famous human known only as Jack.”

“Jack? Hang on, you don’t mean Jack the Ripper?”

The Doctor arched an eyebrow, not caring that again the expression would be lost, “That’s the one. He called himself the Ripper.”

“So, come on, how does the story end? Are you gonna tell me, or are you gonna keep me in suspense?”

“It doesn’t. Not really. It’s just said that one-day it all stopped. That he dropped out of sight, for no known reason, never to be heard from or seen again. The children… the children tell themselves…told themselves… that if you cross over the wrong time-line, that if you disturb the wrong part of history, or that if you…look into the time vortex in the wrong way then he’ll cross over your time-line and take over your mind. Or that he’ll stir again and wreck havoc to the known universe.

“It’s the sort of ghost story that’s repeated on hundreds of different planets.”

“Just like Bloody Mary.”

As she spoke, the first tiny silvers of colour began to play across the sky. There was a tinge of dark green around the edges, which danced in and out of visible perception…

“Just a story, that’s all,” he tightened his grasp a little, unsure of if it was himself, or her that he was trying to reassure.

And on Earth a human man dreamed, uneasily, oddly disjointed images, which, in their own way still ran together enough to tell a tale.

And a watch that he’d never looked at sat on someone else’s mantle, gathering dust.


	2. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

### The Start, or The End?

[](http://s278.photobucket.com/albums/kk117/M_T_Twitter/My%20Fanart/X-Over%20fanart/?action=view&current=04LegendsTARDISversion.jpg)   


** Legends of the Lords **

**Chapter One**

**London, 2002.**

The tinny echo of the music was distracting, almost annoying, as a tiny bit of the sound crept out of the head-phones which were dangling over his shoulder.

He picked up the MP3 player with one hand, glanced at the song title, and turned up the volume to full as he stood in the doorway of the storage shed, checking over everything, not that he’d expected anything to have really changed.

The ’64 Buick Rivera gleamed at him, dull metal glinting from the back of the shed.

No.

Nothing.

Safe.

He locked the door again, set the wards and the alarm, and walked away.

**London, 1969.**

It had been one hell of a party. Nothing like those god-awful state balls that his parents used to claim were his duty to attend, as a part of London’s upper echelons.

It had been, in short, a real party. And the hit of acid that he’d been offered had made it even more so. Without any of his school friends, or his parents cronies peering over his shoulder, he’d had the opportunity to try _everything._ And everything, he had tried.

Which might have gone some way towards explaining why a god-awful whining sound was making him crane his neck in order to peer over his shoulder.

And even more so towards why a 64 Buick Rivera was slowly dropping out of the air, as though it were being driven down towards him.

Pausing in mid-step, the young man frowned. That tab must have been a hell of a lot stronger then he’d thought. Either that or the reefer’d had something else in it. Or maybe it was the absinthe.

As the car drew up beside him, completely silent after it’s ear-killing entry he noticed something else strange about it. All of the windows were tinted completely black. As in a black so solid that it was surprising that the driver could see where they were going.

The young man began to laugh to himself. Trust him to be nit-picking at the figments of his own imagination.

Then the door opened, and a rough voice growled at him.

“Get in. Need a navigator.”

All of a sudden everything that was inside him was screaming at him to run, to fly, to hide, do whatever it would take to get the fuck out of there.

A good four years of street-savvy were telling him to flee.

And, if he hadn’t been as inebriated, or as shit-scared as he was, just on hearing that voice then he may have stood a chance. He knew this area like the back of his own hand, if not better. Knew all the nooks and crannies, and twists and turns and dead ends, and all the ins and outs of hiding places.

However, it was his fear that was his undoing.

The man slid out of a front seat that seemed unusually deep, and grinned at him, a savage twist of an expression on his face, cold eyes glittering darkly.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he growled, a note of cold mocking carrying through to him.

The single note was enough to break the young mans paralysis, and he spun and took two stumbling steps, before an inhumanly strong hand caught him by the arm, and tightened it’s grasp until the pain was enough to drive him to distraction.

The boy cried out, as he was spun back towards the car, with his arm wrenched up behind his back.

“Said I needed a guide, and you’ll do bloody nicely. Any arguments? Comments, questions, queries?” the man shoved the arm a little higher, and the boy whimpered, in spite of the fact that he was trying not to give anything away, “No?” He grinned again, even though he was the only one that could see it, reflected back at himself in the dull metal, “Good.”

**Into the year 2000.**

The TARDIS began to shiver violently, and the Doctor began to wrestle with the controls, trying to bring it back under control.

“What’s going on?” A voice asked at his side, only a tiny hint of anxiety in it. Plunging headlong into the unknown was, after all, a huge part of traveling with the Time Lord, and a few bumps along the road were only to be expected.

He flipped another couple of switches, and kicked at a panel before answering.

“Something’s messing with the time continuum, and we just flew straight into it. I’ve never run into it before. What we’re doing now, is roughly the equivalent of-,” the ship began to shake even worse, and a screeching whine that made her want to clamp her hands over her ears began to vibrate through the ship, “-pull that leaver over there, will you, and hold that one down.”

She did so, and he nodded, as the ship settled down a little, “Good. Now, what we’re doing is moving up the slipstream, trying to trace it back to the source. You could compare it to swimming upstream against a rip-tide current.”

As the worst of it passed, she looked at him, with an eyebrow raised, “Never run into it before? How many other thing in the universe haven’t you seen?”

“A lot more then you’d think actually.”

The TARDIS gave another shiver, and he taped, lightly at another button, and stroked at the metal of the panel, and spoke softly to it, as much as to her, “That’s it. Almost there.”

“So, if you’ve never encountered it before, then how do you…”

“Legends. Stories. Tales," he grinned at her, that hint of ever-present excitement easily visible in his expression, "Rumors. Take your pick.”

Just then, the shaking stopped completely, as the ship eased into the right time-line, and into real space again.


	3. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

### Bad Timing

[](http://s278.photobucket.com/albums/kk117/M_T_Twitter/My%20Fanart/X-Over%20fanart/?action=view&current=04LegendsTARDISversion.jpg)   
  
****  
Legends of the Lords   


**Chapter 3**

**Into The Year 2002**

The TARDIS stopped, hanging dead in space for a few seconds. The Doctor looked over at her, fear on his face, “Hang on to something, and don’t let go,” he shot at her.

“Why?” she asked, even as she grabbed onto a railing that was right beside her. She had learned to act first and ask questions second – if she still had the breath for it.

Seconds later the TARDIS itself answered her question, as it began to shake worse than ever, flipping end over end, and blinking back into that space between times.

“We’re caught in the time stream. Locked into it,” he managed to say, as he, too, hung on, “We’re going all the way.”

**London, 1969**

He was forced into the seat, stumbling and barely managing to keep upright, his free hand the only thing between him and a face-plant.

His shoulder was throbbing like shit (still twisted upwards) and if it hadn’t hurt as much as it did he would have thought that he really _was_ hallucinating. There was no-way that this was still the front seat of the car.

Hell, there was no way that this was part of _any_ car, period.

The leather that had originally been under him had –somewhere between _here_ and _there_ \- become ice-cold metal, and somehow the roof of the car had drawn away from him, until it was high enough that he could have stood, if he hadn’t still been getting forced forwards.

He stopped, and slammed a foot back towards where the mans leg should have been, hoping desperately that he could rely on surprise to give him an advantage, and that he would be able to rip free, and get out of here, wherever the hell here was.

Either he’d moved slower than he’d thought, reflexes still sluggish from the drugs and drink –which was a very real possibility- or the man had been prepared for it. As his foot went backwards, a leg hooked around his, and he went down hard, screaming.

“Ahh. Fuck!” he howled, as he felt his arm wrenched from the socket, by the force of the fall.

“What the hell you trying to pull, ah, you little bastard?” He heard the words, the tone still mocking and this time superior, before the pain from his shoulder took him away, blessed blackness fulling his vision.

**London, 2002**

He was bored, and while this wasn’t an unusual state of being, nor was it one that he had ever faired well from in the past.

When he got bored, or restless, or his feet got itchy things tended to happen. And not necessarily things that were of the good.

He paced back and forth, trying to talk himself out of it, even though he’d already made up his mind to get out of there, and he knew it.

Pausing he scowled, and after a few moments of a far more serious deliberation _(keep him from it. At any cost)_ grabbed the old watch from off the mantle, and brushed the dust off it, before slipping it almost tenderly into his pocket.

At least if he had it with him then he knew where it was.

He wouldn’t be thinking, wouldn’t be worrying, and wouldn’t be constantly distracted.

**Devon, 2002**

He bit back against a small wave of nausea, and forced a tiny smile in her direction.

His head throbbed, feeling as though it wanted to split open, and in spite of that all he still kept a straight face.

Still, all things considered, he was bloody lucky that all he’d wound up with was a semi-persistent, semi-nagging headache, what with…

Well, that and the dreams. But _they_ weren’t any worse than whatever the demon had once thrown at him.

Probably some sort of chemical response to having been mere inches from death. Again.

“Giles?” she asked, voicing his name softly.

“Yes, Willow?” he asked, forcing that pathetically false smile again.

“You don’t seem as… with it… as you usually are.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, brushing it off, as best as he could, literally shaking his head.

And ignored that god-awful buzz that was sounding in his mind.

Again.

**TARDIS, 2002**

Her grasp slowly relaxed a fraction, so that her knuckles weren’t quite as white as they had been a minute or so ago. The TARDIS had sat still for long enough that she was beginning to think that it might just be over, this time.

“Doctor? Is it _safe_ now?”

He nodded, and she slowly forced herself to finish letting go.

“Are you alright?” he wasn’t making any attempt at all to disguise the concern in his voice.

“Where are we? Actually,” she frowned, “strike that. When are we?”

“The year 2002. Above England, if I’m not mistaken.”

“All of that, and you’re telling me that we’ve only moved _two years?_ ” she asked, sounding simultaneously surprised, and annoyed.

“Two years. Yes. But it’s not the length of time that counts, so much as what’s happened in the length of time.”

She threw herself back into a seated position, on the stairs, with her arms crossed, “Well, then. Enlighten me, Doctor. What’s happened in two years, that it’s enough to send the TARDIS tumbling end over end?”

He glanced towards her, and frowned, “Truth is, I’m not entirely sure. That is to say, that I have several ideas of what it _could_ be. But we won’t know for certain until we throw those doors open,” then he grinned at her, “So, what do you say? Up for another adventure?”

She nodded at him, as she drew herself back to her feet, “Sure. Let’s do this.”

**London, 1969**

That screaming, paralyzing agony in his shoulder had gentled to a dull, only mildly distracting throb.

Slowly, the blackness was replaced by the cold metal that his check was plastered firmly against.

Pulling a face, he slowly brought his arm forward, making sure that it still worked .It has been pushed back into the socket while he had been out cold on the floor which shouldn’t have existed.

“Jesus. Fuck. Shit,” he closed his eyes, and the curse slipped out between gritted teeth, and pursed lips, as he used it to push himself up.

_Okay, so that was a bloody stupid idea._

And he moved, just in time to avoid a kick, that was aimed squarely towards him, and obviously intended to move him out of the way.

It wasn’t as dim, here, as it had been when he’d gone down, so that seemed to indicate that he wasn’t in the same place.

“Awake, are you?” This time that mocking tone seemed to hold a trace of amusement, as a toe nudged at him, pushing him over onto his back.

It seemed to be less trouble to go with it, this time.

He bit back against the urge to try and bring his captor to the ground, and run again. If his last attempt hadn’t finished the way that it had, however…

And, to make matters just that much better, he didn’t know which direction he’d have been best off running in, anyway.

That toe caught under his chin, pushing his head back, so that he and his captor were eye to eye.

In spite of himself, and his untenable position, he spat upwards, earning him a dark chuckle, as it fell far short, landing on his own leg.

“What _exactly_ is that date, you little prick?” The mans’ expression twisted again, to one of total contempt.

_What the hell is going on?_ He asked himself the question, but dared not voice it out loud, for fear of igniting the seemingly unstable rage of this man, whoever he was.

“May Third.”

The man’s expression twisted even further, although there seemed to be a hint of something that resembled fear there, now, too.

“The year?”

_What?_

“Nineteen-sixty-nine. What the hell else would it be?” Anger, and uncertainty were making him short, tense, angry, unthinking.

And he found himself scrabbling to avoid another kick, although it still caught his arm at the elbow, the same arm that had so recently been dislocated, and the wash of pain which shot through him was almost enough to knock him out again.

And the man began to laugh, a sound which made every hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Too early. I don’t believe it. I’m too fucking early.”

_Too early for what?_ He wanted to ask, but dared not, instead settling for putting as much floor between himself and the man as he could.


	4. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

[](http://s278.photobucket.com/albums/kk117/M_T_Twitter/My%20Fanart/X-Over%20fanart/?action=view&current=04LegendsTARDISversion.jpg)   
** Legends of the Lords **

**Chapter 4 - Locked**

_The scent of fear was like a tangible stench. His head throbbed, a flash of white-hot pain. Almost enough to make him throw up._

_A feeling of distance, of being dissociated from everything around him, which wouldn’t have been so bad, if there hadn’t been something there that was telling him that this wasn’t the was that things were meant to be. A boy looked at him, mouth moving with unheard words, and a boy that was creeping up behind him froze, mouth falling open into a silent scream, face twisting open into an expression of pure agony._

_His shirt fell away, into a good half-dozen pieces, and the flesh that it revealed seemed to be crawling, writhing as though something or some things, rather, were moving under it._

_A single drop of blood began to well at the corner of his eye, and ran freely down his cheek, almost as though it were a tear. It moved far too slowly to pull the illusion off completely, though._

_He fell to an unseen ground, as in several places the flesh slowly split._

_A fresh wave of nausea passed through him, and he twisted away, trying to run. The strange boy caught up to him easily matching his pace, eyes jet black, and a half-crazed expression on his face._

_“Come on. Move,” the words came from his own mouth, but he had no recollection of saying them._

_And then everything around him froze._

**Heading out of London, 2002**

He woke, gasping for breath, and slowly the seat of the car swum into view. The watch was grasped in his hand, tight enough that it left its intricate patterns pressed into his skin for a few minutes, after he let it go, and slid it back into his pocket.

**Devon, 2002**

The bed under him was one of those firm slat-jobs, which wouldn’t have been so bad. The mattress that had been put on top of it, though – that was bloody torture.

Although that had nothing to do with the reason why he was tossing, and turning in and uneasy sleep. That had everything to do with the dreams.

And the right side of his chest ached – again, it had done ever since the magick had bled back to him.

He stirred, and woke with a start, soaked in sweat, slowly pushing himself up, not caring about the way the rough woolen blanket fell down his chest, to gather at his groin – after all, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to see it – and half-turned, so that he could rest his forehead against the cool timber of the head-board.

Slowly he drew in a deep breath, and then let it out between clenched teeth, willing the nausea, and the chest pain (which he would have though was a heart-attack, if it had been on the other side), and the headache to pass.

It didn’t, of course.

But it did settle down to just on the right side of manageable.

And for that, he was bloody grateful.

Of course, he already knew that it wouldn’t last.

Aspirin didn’t help. Whiskey only pushed the nausea into the realm of actual sickness. Morphine, too, did sweet-bugger-all. Magick helped, a little, but tended to leave him worse off afterwards.

He was beginning to fear that he may have finally pushed things too far, with this last stunt.

**London, 1969**

Even across the distance between him, and the man, he could feel that cold gaze pinning him.

He started to cross the floor, and the boy discovered just how literal that assessment had been, as he tried to move, to keep the entire room between them.

“Get up,” his voice had a note of commanding in it.

He frowned, still fighting against it.

“Get. Up.”

The words were sharp, and clipped.

_I’d really rather not, thanks._

“On your feet. Now.”

As he advanced another slow step, he managed to finally draw back a little more.

And then his tone of voice changed, as the mans cold gaze locked with his again.

_“Stand.”_

He found himself responding, reacting to it before he had a chance to fight it off, this time. Some sort of compulsion, or something like that.

He’d though that sort of shit only existed in Hollywood movies. Granted, he knew a smudge of magic, but he’d always figured there was a limit.

“Good,” that note of command was gone.

_If you could do that…_

As though reading his mind (and for all he knew, he could) the man offered him that dark smile again, “It was interesting to have you free. To see how you would respond. But now; now you’re beginning to piss me off.”

He turned, looked away –as though anything that the boy did would be completely inconsequential, and the boy found that he could breath again.

Slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t be noticed, he took the chance to flick his gaze around the huge room – a room that was far too big – looking for any possible way out. There were several passages around the edges, which seemed to lead away, but nothing to indicate which one might lead back to a place where things actually made sense again.

At what appeared to be the front and center of the room, there was what looked like a window, although he highly doubted that it was made from any form of glass.

Through it he could see the sort of scene that he’d have expected to be able to see through a car windshield.

The man hit a few switches, and buttons, and with a repeat of that awful shrieking whine, the view that he could see changed abruptly.

The car-that-wasn’t-a-car rose sharply, and it felt like his stomach had been dropped out through his feet. And then, with a strange shuddering hop, the scene changed even further, and the what-ever-the-fuck-it-was dropped back down.

In front of him was a grotty, dank looking alleyway. Where the pavement was worn away were large puddles of water, and everything had that damp-slick looking sort of look to it, as though it had just finished drizzling.

He looked at the man, who seemed to be waiting for something, and slowly came to the conclusion that if he’d wanted him dead, then he already would be.

“Look. Who are you, and what the hell’s going on here?” Even with the tremble in his voice, he still sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

The man looked at him, and tilted his head to one side slightly, as though trying to remember something.

_A boy looked at him in the recently vacated night-club, expression one of shock. His voice was hesitant, almost afraid, “Ripper?”_

“What the hell’d you just call me?”

“I’m sorry,” a swagger of confidence was quick in coming to the fore-front, “What did you say that your name was?”

“Didn’t. It’s Giles. Rupert Giles. Now, you gonna tell me what it was that you just called me? Or am I gonna have to knock it outta you?”

“Easy, ahh, take it easy. No need to get violent,” the boy frowned, raised a placating hand, “What a way to talk to the person who just saved your life, by the way. A real fucking charmer, aren’t you? And if you must know, I said you looked like a Ripper.”

He grinned, and the expression made him want to leave. Quickly, “Ripper. I like it.”

He grinned at the boy, and the expression wasn’t any less frightening the second time around, “Call me Jack. Call me Ripper. Your pick, I don’t give a fuck. And as for what’s going on – you’ll find out. When I feel like telling you.”

**TARDIS, 2002**

The space that was around them shimmered, and flashed, as she tried to open the door, and something threw her back, left her gasping for breath. She turned to him.

“Doctor, what the hell was that?”

“Sorry,” he crossed over to her, and grasped her hand, to help her up, “I didn’t think that that would happen. I should have, though. I really should have.”

The he winced, and let go of her hand sharply, as what felt like a bolt of electricity jumped from her to him. It was like when two statically-charged objects came into contact with one another, only a was a lot sharper.

“Well, that’s that then,” he said.

“That’s what, Doctor? What didn’t you expect to happen?”

“The time line. It isn’t locked solely onto the TARDIS anymore. It’s locked onto us, as well. Until what it is that’s locked us here has moved, then we’re stuck.”

**Heading out of London, 2002**

The lonely country road stretched out for miles before him, unwinding out of the hills. That was good though – he’d always liked being alone.

Grinning to himself, he cranked the radio up, and started to sing along to it. The warm weight of the watch was reassuring, returned to his pocket.

He felt a lot more at ease that he had on waking, some 20 minutes ago.

And, as a light drizzle began to fall, and the sound of rolling thunder came echoing to him out of the hills, he felt more at peace with the world, and with his place in it, than he had in a long time.


	5. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

### Chapter 4 - Assumptions

_You think that you know where precisely it is that a story begins. And you might think that you’ve seen the ending. But sometimes, what you don’t know, is that you’ve been dropped into the centre of everything._

_There, here, there’s a boy that’s met a man he’s never known, and yet the man, if he can still be called such, came to know his companion too many years ago to now be able to count._

_Here, there are two travellers that have spent months, years, and yet no time at all travelling the stars and the centuries._

_And somewhere between here and there, is a traveller on something no more complicated than the road, on his way to another who is on a different sort of journey entirely, waiting for … a key event?…a trigger? The start of a journey that began centuries ago? The end of a journey the will finish decades, even millennia later?_

_Who knows? Who, truly, knows?_

_Watch and see._

**London, 1969**

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Certainly not to be led through several twisting, branching corridors while his head still swam, even though the shock of everything had, at least partially sobered him up, to something that looked mildly familiar, even though he’d been more than a little distracted the last time that he’d seen it.

Adrenaline had done him a lot of favours, even if the chemicals in his brain which were trying to take him away from the pain that was still lingering weren’t. In spite of himself, though, his eyes darted from side to side, as he noted this wall panel which was slightly darker towards one side than the other, that door which he was relatively sure was unique, and the strange shapes on the wall over there which just about could have been lettering.

If lettering could be two foot high, and not contain a single character that he could possibly recognize.

Just like last time the man paused without warning, and twisted his head slightly to the side so that he could look down at him properly, “Landmarks?” he queried, smoothly.

All of a sudden, feeling stupid, the boy didn’t reply. And there he saw another chance, as his head was clearer than it had been all evening. Skirting around this man’s, Jack’s… _Ripper’s_ … legs; he took off down the corridor as quickly as he could.

 _“immõtus,”_ he called, raising a hand after the haring figure, and he came to a dead halt, as efficiently as though he was a bird, launched in the direction of the closest shut window.

The boy felt his heart speed, as the heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor behind him, as a single heavy hand reached down and grasped his shoulder, squeezing as he made contact. If it hadn’t been on the side which had suffered so much abuse recently, then he probably wouldn’t have flinched, but it was just on the wrong side of painful as it was.

“Maybe I ought to get a collar for you,” a light hand drifted up the back of his neck, and ran through his hair, as that twist of a grin came back to his face, “especially if you’re going to keep trying me like this.”

He was grateful that he couldn’t react.

The man paused, almost in mid-action, and raised an eyebrow, “And as far as landmarks to guide your escape-route go, then best of luck. Do you honestly think that anything in here stays where I don’t want it to?”

Just as the boy’s legs were beginning to ache from being held that one position, with a final squeeze, his expression softened a little.

 _“lĩberãtus,”_ he muttered, and the boy collapsed to the ground as his muscles gave out.

He tensed, waiting for those hands to grab him by the hair and drag him back up, and was surprised when the man grabbed him under the arms and set him firmly back onto his feet, supporting him until he could support himself again.

**Devon, 2002**

The first thing that she noticed, as her senses took their rightful places, was the emptiness, the wildness of the field that they had stepped out into. And earthy, homey smell pervaded her nostrils, and all that she could hear was natural.

A bird that she didn’t recognize warbled off somewhere in the distance and from even further away a mate answered it. The constant lull of the ocean against the side of a cliff which the TARDIS had almost wound up over the edge of made her feel as though this was some unusual movie set that they had wound up landing in the middle of.

The feeling was cemented, as she paused at the edge of the field, and looked back towards their method of arrival, and found three cows looking cautiously towards it. Seconds later, the Doctor caught up with her again, and looked back to see why she was laughing.

“Yes, well,” he looked a little sheepish for a few moments, before he drew out his screwdriver and aimed it towards the TARDIS, nudging a setting on it, and turning to her with a look of satisfaction, as it shimmered, and flashed from view. His expression didn’t flicker at all, as seconds later it flashed back. Instead, be pressed a different sequence and nodded as it repeated the performance.

“That should do it,” he spoke again, after giving it a few minutes, “come on, then. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

**Into Devon, 2002**

The next time that he stopped driving was right on the edge of the town that he had been telling himself for the last half-hour he _hadn’t_ been heading for. Because it was a stupid idea, to even consider it.

Not that anyone had ever accused him of being the most intelligent of men, but surely he wasn’t the one who would sign and seal the king’s defeat simply for the sake of a touch of entertainment.

Besides, the last time he’d attempted communication the reply he’d received had left no room for doubt what so ever. Uncapping the bottle of whiskey which he kept in the car solely for emergencies, he threw his head back and downed several swallows, before placing the bottle on the bonnet and tugging the watch out of his pocket again.

Twisting it, so that the light caught it _just so,_ throwing patterns over the still, deep lake in front of him, he frowned to himself. Maybe if he hadn’t lost everything that had slowly come to mean something to him on that day, then he wouldn’t have been as tempted to mock fate as he was these days.

Hell, mock fate? There were times when he practically drew back to spit in it’s eye. And there were times when it felt like it was worth every moment of it.

Boredom drove him to the brink of sanity, and what he knew held him there; that was the way it had always been, and the way it always would be _if things went to plan._

And he knew what was at stake if they didn’t.

As he stared out at a distant spot where the light of the watch was thrown back at him, an image rose before his memory, of a man, whose hair was hinted with ginger, pressing the watch into his hand, and folding his fingers over it, “I don’t care what you have to do to do it. You _need_ to keep him from it, no matter the cost.”

“But…”

“No. I’m sorry, but no. You’ve seen what’s at stake. Nothing is worth that.”

Closing his eyes, he let his senses turn inwards, in a way that he rarely did these days. A more noble man would have turned around and headed back the way he’d came, followed his own footstep backwards through the snow so that he didn’t leave a trace of having been and gone.

But he wasn’t noble. The monster had seen to that.

**Devon, 2002**

Today was a little better than others had been recently. For one thing he could actually think straight enough to be completely certain of what he was saying.

For another, he’d been working with Willow solidly since seven o’clock this morning, without becoming over exhausted or having to slow down because of the pain that had plagued him over the last few weeks.

Perhaps this meant that maybe luck was on his side, for one of the final times. After all, he had been through worse, before, and come out in tact. All that he really needed to do now was ignore that nagging little voice which seemed to be trying to pull him towards the west.

And again, it wasn’t the first time that he’d done battle with that, either. After all, he’d known several people over his life who had been convinced that not making deals with the voices in their heads was the height of madness. And there was no reason why behaviour shouldn’t be contagious.

“Giles, I think I’ve got it,” at Willow’s enthusiasm, he smiled at her, and for half a second she froze. However, the moment didn’t last long enough for him to make anything of it.

“That’s very well done, Willow,” he offered her the best encouragement that he could at the moment, a fatherly expression and a pat on the back, and she turned her back on whatever it had been that had made her hesitate.

And he tried to write off the fact that the buzz which had been tormenting him was still lessening.

 

**Translations – immõtus = freeze  
Lĩberãtus = go free**


	6. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

### Chapter 5 - Any Cost

**Chapter 5**

_“tu e redeo,”_ the man breathed, almost directly into his ear, as he kept a single supporting hand pressed to the small of his back, and the boy shivered as he felt something which almost reminded him of walking through cobwebs settling over him.

“What the hell…”

A sharp slap to the back of his head cut him off mid-exclamation and that unnerving tone growled next to him, “Give you permission to talk, did I?”

 _No_ and _sorry_ danced to the tip of his tongue, but he bit then both back, deciding that he didn’t want any more unnecessary blows, and that it wasn’t actually a verbal answer that Ripper was looking for.

“Smart one,” Ripper growled, as he drew the boy to a halt in an area that he couldn’t fail to recognize, even though he’d been more focused on the pain that he’d been in the last time he’d passed through it.

With a word and a flick of his wrist (something that the boy wasn’t sure was simply for show or not) the door sprung open and through the space he saw the extremely welcome inky blackness of the night outside. As much as his instinct screamed at him to take the chance and race for the door, his sense of self-preservation kicked in even further as with a single look, he recalled his several failed attempts recently.

There was no way that Ripper would be showing him the door unless he was confident about his ability to hold him, the boy was certain of that. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to so much effort to hold him in the first place.

With a sigh, he slumped to the floor, resting his back against the wall so that he could stare out the gap and only looked up in time to see the slight approval in Ripper’s gaze.

“Good, so you can learn then. I can train you.”

Again, that growl sent a shiver through him, one that he didn’t dare respond to. And the man dropped into a crouch directly in front of him, blocking his line of sight from the door, and his hand grasped his shoulder again, as cold green eyes met his.

_„Du wirst töten.”_

Even as the boy succeeded in breaking his gaze away and closing his eyes, he couldn’t shake the images which flared up behind his eyelids, the words which came up in his minds eye, as Ripper’s savage grin settled on him. He knew what he was being pushed into doing.

And it made him feel sick.

**Devon, 2002**

She had spent a lot of the time that she had known the Doctor running; across plains where the sky was green and the grass was blue, through cities where two suns hung overhead, across beaches that were brighter at night than they were in the day, but so rarely had she spent quite this long doing something as mundane as walking; not on the regular old surface of Earth, at least.

But she was, and they were. And the Doctor seemed dead-set in his theory that they would be stuck here until they shifted what-ever was causing the obstruction, to the point where he wouldn’t even try to move off beforehand; spouting something about possibly causing a localized collapse of time and space, should they do so and fail.

Either that or destroying this entire universe as they knew it… And considering that a failed escape-attempt would be the trigger, such a thing would more than likely take them with it, too.

And it didn’t take a man like the Doctor to tell her that that would be a bad thing.

“Hey,” she spoke to him, and he craned his head back to look at her, from where he’d stopped walking a good few feet ahead. Giving her a tiny smile, he turned back around, and tilted his head back, staring up towards the sun.

Not for the first time she wondered what it would be like to be able to see what he did; not just common colour and depth and dimension, but into the patterns and paths of time as it, too, unfolded. To be able to see everything in any state of life, and see what everything was spiralling towards, there was certain poetry and a beauty in it. But such a devastation, too, in knowing the ending before it was written.

**Into Devon, 2002**

He weighed the watch in his hand once more, and eyed the lake again. If he threw it, hurled it out into the depths then would its siren-song still call out like a lure, drawing in the one that he was meant to be keeping it from?

He couldn’t hear it, not unless he fell into the deepest of meditation, and then only faintly, but it was a call that the true owner could hear across time and space. He doubted that a few meters of water would make a difference. A bitter laugh, a dark expression touched his face. Maybe he should have tried to destroy it, layering it over and over with magic that would have killed anyone who tried to open the bloody thing.

That would have been at any cost, wouldn’t it? To set a death-trap for someone who had been responsible for such a huge part of his life. But he found that when it came to it, he couldn’t.

_Any cost._

He knew the monster.

_Any cost._

He knew what was behind the monster.

_Any cost._

He knew who was responsible for the monster.

And if it came down to a choice between the galaxy and one person in it, well then it was only one person in it that he had ever truly been made to respect. The galaxy could go to hell, for all he cared.

It had enough damned heroes in it that it ought to be able to take care of itself anyway, for once.

He finished off the whiskey with one last tilt of his head, and pushing himself away from the bonnet of the car turned slowly back towards it and managed to open the door on the second attempt. With a casual flick of his wrist he tossed the watch onto the centre of the passenger seat, and slid into the drivers’ side. A further two attempts also got the keys into the ignition and cemented the fact that he shouldn’t be driving again.

But if he crashed, then at least the situation would be out of his hands, there was that. He could see it in his mind, the Chameleon Arch being picked up, the only thing to survive the twist of a wreckage, and being tucked away in some curio store, one simple step away from it’s master.

Giving the thing a mild glare, and knowing that before long it would snake into his pocket again, he started the car up again.

**Devon, 2002**

“Giles, you seem to be getting twitchy again.”

He shook himself, forcing his attention from the glimmer of colour that he could see, spreading out like a shield around her; it was a deep mix of earthy browns and yellows and a touch of living green, with the occasional thread of black through it. That made sense though, the touch of black that was ever-present in her aura.

After all, the heart of Willow’s power came from the earth itself, and nature was in constant motion, birth and death written on its script both simultaneously and consistently.

Of course he wouldn’t mention that to her, for fear of undoing all the work that he’d put in towards helping her recover. And besides, it wasn’t likely that many others would be able to see deep enough to pick up on it. He’d always been gifted at reading auras.

And if his time here was to be limited to what he was doing here and now, then he wanted to go out seeing that those he cared for were taken care of.

“Seriously,” her voice sounded again, and he opened his eyes to see that she had uncrossed her legs and stood back up while he had been half-drifting again.

“It’s nothing. It… it… in fact it’s just this… well, it’s hard to describe; not truly a feeling, as per-say, as it is a feeling of a feeling. In fact, it’s one that doesn’t often intrude unless…”

He trailed off, as he finally placed the feeling, the almost buzz. One couldn’t blame him though; after all it had been a few years since he’d last felt it.

“Unless what?”

“Unless… no, it’s nothing,” he repeated, as though saying it again would make it so. Maybe this time he would be proven wrong; certainly he didn’t have the strength to deal with this, nor the time or patience should his suspicion be proven correct, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

She looked at him, head tilted slightly to one side, “Tired, already?”

He felt a touch of hopelessness, which he bit back. He would have to deal with it sooner or later, but for now it was neither the time nor place, “I’m just not quite as young as I used to be, I’m afraid. I’m still recovering from the incident back in Sunnydale. It rather doesn’t lend itself to sitting cross-legged on the ground for long periods.”

He said it as gently as he could, making every effort not to upset the delicate balance that they had formed and maintained. And considering she didn’t go quiet, or look away and focus on anything other that him, like she had the first few times he considered it a success.

Now if only he could shake this damned headache for a while then the day would truly be complete.

Shaking himself, he turned back towards the house and lowered his head as he cut towards the front door, pausing after a few steps to shoot Willow a smile, “I’m just heading in to get a drink. I’ll be back out shortly.”

Inside, in the shade and away from prying eyes he slipped to the floor and leaned gratefully back against the door, head tilted back against the cool wood. Ordering his muscles to relax, he closed his eyes and tried to even his breaths. Huh; tired indeed… now that was an understatement.

_x-X-x-X-D-G-X-x-X-x_

_Translations: (Latin) “tu e redeo,” = you will stand  
(German) „Du wirst töten.” = You will kill_


	7. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

**Chapter 6: A Sign of Things to Come**

Early evening; he first of the night’s stars hung in the sky, and she found her gaze drawn towards them, and began to pass a little time trying to compare constellations from where she was. Not an easy task, when at least half of the time she wasn’t sure whether they were wandering in space alone, or time and space both.

Most of the time the practicalities didn’t matter, either; all that really mattered was that she was where she was, with who she was with.

As the Doctor paused she found her gaze flicking from the heavens above, and down to a rooftop which as finally visible above the latest belt of trees. Twenty minutes into the walk, he had pinpointed their position to Devon in England. It seemed strange that something which had had such a violent effect on the TARDIS could be located in such a peaceful-seeming area of countryside.

**London, 1969**

He fought the compulsion, trying to hang onto the feelings the images which had somehow been planted in his mind stirred, as though if he clung on to that with tooth and claw then his natural instinct would override everything else.

It made sense in theory, anyway. After all, his thoughts were still his own; just not all of his actions. Ripper watched, with his arms crossed over his chest, and an eyebrow raised. The expression on his face was amusement with a touch of malevolence, which didn’t make for a particularly reassuring combination.

He was shivering, sweating. Cold and hot in the same moment; the last time that he’d felt like this, this bad, was after a bad tab that he’d been given… must have been a couple of years ago, now.

Finally Ripper uncrossed his arms the annoyance on his face becoming more than the amusement and the boy felt his first taste of victory.

But after giving a few seconds grace he snapped something in a language that the boy couldn’t start to make head nor tail of and his vision cleared, where before that it had been darkening at the edges with the energy that he’d been expanding with fighting. And in that same instant the rest of his senses sharpened, too.

Just in time for him to get a close-up of the grin that tugged at the corner of the mad-man’s mouth. Because if there was on thing that he’d already become certain of, it was that this man was mad, in the original sense. Not completely, mind, but enough to make him very deadly.

“You’re strong; I’ll give you that. For a human, at least,” he took two steps forward, and in spite of what his senses were screaming at him, the boy found that he couldn’t take a couple of much desired steps backwards, “but still not strong enough, boy.”

**Devon, 2002**

He knew that Willow would probably still be concerned even with the note that he’d left for her, but after drifting for fifteen minutes simply sitting there, he’d had to get out. Get some fresh air, and some space in which he only had himself to worry about.

As much as the mask he was trying to show everyone around him was holding strong under the pressure, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a struggle to maintain it.

And Willow had him to vent to, to share her thoughts and hopes and fears with. Buffy had her friends back in Sunnydale. It seemed that everyone had somebody else to turn to for support, but whom and what did he have other than his own two legs under himself, other than his own strength to lean on?

He had severed his family ties long ago, shut out the few people that had seen him as an equal, as a friend.

And he was exhausted. The dull ache in his head was worsening.

Lowering his head to the wind he cut a blind path straight ahead.

** X-x-X-x-X-D-G-X-x-X-x-X **

The man turned a corner, grateful that his dulled senses and reflexes allowed him that much control over the car. The sold weight of the Arch in his pocket reminded him of its presence there.

He drove two minutes up the road, and slammed on the brakes, before sending the car into reverse for a few feet, until he was once again level with the two people that he’d just passed.

It was impossible. It was impossible, but here it was. There were a few less grey hairs on the man’s head, but he was unmistakable. And as for the woman with him; pretty blond thing that she was... she seemed younger, too. He hadn’t seen much of her, but she seemed lighter, freer in a sense.

He threw the car door open, and took a couple of wavering steps towards the pair of them.

“You; -what the hell are you doing here?”

**London, 1969**

_I have a name;_ the boy snarled mentally. He knew that that was the least of his worries, but it seemed a safe enough thing to allow himself to get pissed off at. One small, safe rebellion; after all, no matter what other gifts this man seemed to poses there could be no way he could actually read minds could there?

Ripper cocked his head to one side as though listening for something, giving the impression of a bird of prey waiting for the right moment to swoop. Then he raised a hand, and again the boy tried to draw back that little bit further, up until the moment that he saw Ripper was reaching past him to open the door. The sight of the street glistening with rain just outside the _car_ didn’t provide so much as a quarter of the relief that he’d desperately been hoping for ever since this fucked up freak-show had begun who knew how much earlier.

He then pressed the raised hand to the boy’s left temple, and said something else that he couldn’t understand and something else slipped into his mind; something that he tried not to take anything from or pay any attention to. Because maybe if he didn’t take it in; then he wouldn’t _take_ it in. And as much as he knew that such a thing would no doubt prove to be wistful thinking on his part it seemed as though hope was one of the only things that he had going for him at the moment.

“Go on,” Ripper moved to the side, and gestured towards the door, gaze glittering darkly, “out with you.”

Some of that iron hold slackened, although no where near enough that he though it would make any difference, and with an almost constant shiver the boy carefully lowered himself to the ground outside on legs that felt like they shouldn’t be able to support half his weight.

At that moment Ripper’s grin slipped, and the boy saw a glimpse of something that was truly ancient behind it.

“I’m not going anywhere. Still be here once you’ve done your little trick, mate,” the final word had some of the traces of cold mocking that the boy had been hearing all night. It was almost reassuring.

**Devon, 2002**

The Doctor looked at the man who had pulled up sharply beside him.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know you,” he kept his tone as smooth as was possible, moving a little closer to his companion as he spoke.

“You’re the Doctor,” his gaze flicked back towards the woman, “the Doctor and Rose Tyler. I know you. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

“Well that’s the trouble with time travel,” he shrugged, almost apologetically, “never can get it in quite the right order, no matter how many times you try.”

The man looked very much as though he was contemplating getting back in the car, aiming it back the way he’d come and slamming down the gas peddle.

The Doctor was almost tempted to tell him to do so, to listen to that initial reaction. There was something almost unsettling about this man.

But behind the seemingly automatic response of fear he also saw the thing that had been the downfall of many humans before him. Just a touch, just the smallest touch of curiosity; there was a question in his gaze.

He focused on that question, phasing out all of the background noise.

The world fell away.

_So is this how it starts, then? What if I turned and ran? Could I change everything by that one tiny thing? He knew me, but I never knew him, not then. What if I ran… if I ran…?_

The Doctor shook himself. He’d looked as deeply as he could. And that meant that there was nothing else for it but to go along with it.

He drew out his screwdriver, flicked the setting and aimed it at the man, wasn’t quite surprised to find that he was steeped in vortex energy. It was old, but there was no doubt that it was there. Once a person had been exposed to the background radiation of time manipulation, it was always there.

“You seem to know us well enough. And you are?”

He kept a careful eye on the man’s face, watched as he seemed to come to some sort of a decision, as something in his expression closed off.

“It doesn’t matter, not now; not if you don’t know. It’s better that way; trust me. You have no idea how much better.”

The man’s hand twitched towards his pocket, and then returned to his side. He turned back towards the car. Everything was falling into place. Time to get out of here, before something bad happened.

He managed two steps, and then a hand clamped down on his shoulder.


	8. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

**Chapter 7: Puzzle Pieces**

**London, 1969**

In spite of his best efforts the closed door at the other end through which he could hear pounding music still drew him forward and through it. And the first thing that his gaze came to, was a boy who was maybe a little younger than himself, in the middle of a circle of guys who were all dressed up in black leather and torn jeans and steel-cap boots.

This was obviously a gang thing, then. And he had no idea exactly what the younger had done to upset them, but it _must_ have been something major.

And it wasn’t the imminent thrashing that the bloke was about to receive that made his freeze in mid-step, in spite of the fact that the compulsion was still urging him on, and telling him exactly what to do. It was the fact that, in spite of what was at least a couple of decade’s difference, he was still recognizable.

Hard green eyes that were far older than they had any right to be were set into the young face, and his expression masked the madness that he’d seen in the open only minutes ago.

“Ripper?”

He spoke more out of reflex than out of any conscious desire to do so. And the guy, who obviously had rather good hearing, flashed him a grin, and raised an eyebrow.

“Ripper, eh?” anything else that he may have said was cut short as one of the guys took advantage of his momentary distraction, lunging forward to tag his shoulder with a fist.

And the compulsion started to take over.

**Devon, 2002**

He spun and found himself almost eye to eye with the Doctor.

“I… ah, I don’t suppose you’re willing to leave well enough alone?”

“Can’t. We’re stuck here, until we find a way to break the lock that we just hit. And intuition’s telling me that you know a lot more than you’re letting on.”

“We could talk somewhere else? The other side of the country would be a nice start, if you’re here.”

He knew that trying to change established events from inside of them was as pointless as trying to divert the path of the tide with a single pebble. And that wasn’t actually as pointless as it sounded, so maybe that wasn’t the best metaphor, but that was getting off course. He had to get out of here, and he had to do it before…

Oh. Bugger… There went that.

The Doctor saw that his gaze had left him, and slowly turned, as though not sure of what would be there, and not sure that he wanted to see, either. He offered a smile that he hoped was pacifying, rather than antagonizing.

“Hello, Ripper.”

The Doctor spun back to him as though he’d just shot him.

“What did you just call him?”

**London, 1969**

He didn’t know how he was doing it. And he didn’t know how to stop himself. With a single word that was snarled through gritted teeth, the circle of guys went flying backwards, as though the invisible blow had emitted from Ripper himself. And half a second later his eyes shifted black.

Ethan wasn’t sure whether that was more unnerving than the empty depths of the green or not. The only thing that he was sure of, was that he didn’t want to be here, definitely didn’t want to be doing any of this. And Ripper’s smile widened.

“See you know a few tricks yourself, mate.”

All that he could really do for his own sanity was stop trying to figure out what the hell was going on. And the longer he forced himself to hold back the deeper the compulsion became. He didn’t have the self control to reply, even if he’d wanted to.

With another snarled word the shirt of the bloke that seemed as though he was in charge of the rest of them fell away in several pieces. The rest of them were trapped, pinned to where they’d fallen.

And as Ethan followed the images that had been planted he felt a power that he’d never known before flooding into him. He felt as though all of time and space was at his fingertips. It was like he had eyes in the back of his head.

As often, afterwards, as he would tell himself that he hated not being in control of himself, there was no denying that the hint of power which he was brushing against was beyond anything that he could have ever imagined.

If he could hold himself together through this, if he could pick up a few of these little _tricks_ for himself, then maybe he would never find himself _weak_ again.

The compulsion loosened a little of its hold on him, as he breathed and a couple of the guys took the chance to scrabble to their feet. As the guy who seemed to be the leader lunged towards him, fists swinging and with the other two on his heels, it was like he was reacting to things before they were happening.

Ripper was standing, leaning casually back against the bar with his arms crossed over his chest and a raised eyebrow for the scene unfolding before him.

Again, he fell back into himself letting the compulsion guide him, because he had quickly come to realise that that was the only way he was going to get out of this both alive and physically unscathed.

With another twist of his hands the guy in front of him crumpled to the ground, howling like a beaten dog. His eyes had gone the milky-white of blindness, and several deep slashes opened across his face. His hair rapidly lightened to grey, and his skin sagged down.

He flicked a hand down, and it was as though the leaders back was crumpling into his chest. He managed a single shaking gasp, and a sudden hacking cough, as a tear of blood trickled from the corner of his eye, and more bubbled out from his mouth.

Then, thankfully he went still.

**Devon, 2002**

“Ripper; -you called him Ripper.”

He flicked his gaze towards Rose, all of a sudden unwilling to take his attention from the new arrival. But all he needed was half a second to see that she was remembering the conversation they’d had several months ago, as actual time flowed, about monsters and myths.

“Can’t be…” he said, almost as though by the statement alone he could negate the possibility of it. But certainly stranger things had happened. And, for all of the reasons why he should have sensed another Time Lord on earth, even under a Chameleon Ark, if this _was_ what it looked like, there were still those few reasons why he wouldn’t.

The pale-faced man drew himself up, and in spite of how tired he seemed; how worn he felt, the strength that was under that was still more than enough to make him hesitate before a situation where he usually would have plunged in headlong.

“What does it matter what he called me? Especially as I’ve no idea who either of you are, _or why you’re on my land_. And as for you…” his eyes narrowed at Ethan, who half shrugged, even as he backed towards the car, the only thought in his mind the one that was still telling him to run.

“I was bored?”

**London, 1969**

As he watched the scene before him, he struggled not to give in to the feeling of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t think of anything past the fact that this was blood on his hands; after all, he may not have understood the language, but a part of him had caught the inherent meaning of the words.

His head was swimming, as he gritted his teeth against the desire to throw up. If this was power, then he didn’t want any part of it.

He didn’t notice, as the gang which he and this impossible person had knocked down stared between their dead leader, who looked as if he were ninety if a day, and the boy standing over him and the one leaning casually back against the bar. And he certainly didn’t notice as they rose and ran. It was usually a life for a life, but against someone that could kill with words, the natural balance of things changed.

In fact, he didn’t know much of anything until the impossible boy’s hand grabbed his shoulder, pushing him out into the night.

“I know no-one’s ever going to believe it, but we should get outta here too, mate.”

As the cool night air hit him, it woke up a part of him that had flicked off.

The young man turned to him and grinned, “Thanks for the hand back there.”

The compulsion was itching at him again. He didn’t want to go back, but he couldn’t fight it. The air between him and the other seemed to blur in front of him, and when he tried to get through it, with his last inch of self, he found that it had solidified. And the last piece of reality that he caught, before he lost himself again was as the boy-Ripper paused at the corner of the street, and grinned.

“By the way, mate, Ripper?” He grinned over his shoulder at him, “I like the sound of that.”

**Devon, 2002**

“Bored? You were bored? And you wanted to alleviate it with what, your annual thrashing?” The fact that there were two other people there was becoming lost on him, as he narrowed his eyes, his exhaustion temporarily forgotten, too.

This was one situation that all of the Doctor’s instincts were telling him to get out of. But if the reason that they had become locked into this tiny piece of history was the man, the possible Time Lord standing in front of them, looking for ass the world as though he wouldn’t hesitate to follow up his words with the resounding actions, then they were stuck here, too.

If it meant the difference between half the known universe suffering and it being safe then he was prepared to wait this out. This man, this _Ripper_ looked as though he were exhausted, in every way. And if he was the cause of it, then his death would be freedom from the time lock.

His gaze flashed between the two men, who were squaring off as though they’d done it a number of times before. Hands fisted and bodies tensed, and he kept slowly backing away. He certainly wasn’t in any position to see the lump in the man’s pocket, until Ripper swung one of those balled fists, and cursed as he caught something hard which was flipped out of his pocket, falling with a glint of silver.

He may not have noticed it before hand, but time seemed to slow as it fell and he saw it clearly then. He knew exactly what that was.

Panic flashed over the man’s face, and three people dived for the same patch of ground. The Doctor was that little bit quicker then the other two, but half a second later it was like he was trying to dive into a windstorm on Divind 2, a wind that was powerful enough to tuck under his chest and send him flipping backwards, knocking the air out of him. And the other man hit the ground next to him with a gasp that was much the same.

All that he could do was stare as Ripper straightened up with the Chameleon Ark grasped in one hand and his eyes jet-black.


	9. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

**Chapter 8: Picking Up the Pieces**

“Ripper,”

“Rupert,”

Both spoke at the same time, the Doctor using the only name that he’d heard associated with this man; and his companion in breathlessness using one that was far more human.

“What the hell is this thing, anyway?” his grasp tightened on it, and the Doctor knew from stories that he’d heard that if this person was as close to the end as he seemed to be, then it would be singing to him, not just whispering.

Slowly, as though not to startle him, the Doctor rose to his feet, and extended a hand, “You can hear it, I know you can. Just give it to me, and everything will be clearer.”

Rupert took a step backwards, almost as though on automatic, as he raised the watch to his ear, keeping as eye on the slowly approaching Time Lord, some inborn instinct telling him not to take his gaze off of him.

“How do you know anything about this, about what its doing? The… the only way… you, you’re in league with Ethan,” his expression darkened, and his eyes narrowed.

“No, he’s not,” Ethan found his voice again, “I don’t know him; I don’t know how he knows.”

The Doctor could see it for what it was; an attempt to placate him.

“What’s so important about this thing, anyway? His gaze flicked back to Ethan, and he tilted his head a little closer to the watch, “You’re never without it.”

The Doctor used the opportunity to catch the attention of Rose, who was coming towards Ripper from an off-side angle, as though she though that she would be able to wrestle the watch from him, and shook his head very slightly from side to side.

He could see a touch of buried madness in Ripper’s black gaze. It wasn’t just black, it was bottomless.

Ethan launched into an awkward lunge, from the ground and Ripper used his own momentum to flip him past him, and onto his back.

“It’s an heirloom?” he offered a weak grin, knowing that there was no way the excuse would be believed, not after that.

**London, 1969**

His gaze cleared a little, as heavy footsteps on the ground stirred him from his stupor. His cheek was damp in the puddle of vomit that it was in, which told him that he’d thrown up, before blacking out. He was shaking uncontrollably, as strong arms dragged him back to his feet, and miles above him he saw Ripper’s face. He didn’t even have the strength in him to try to take another swing at him.

“You did better than I remembered you doing, just there. Still, that’s time. Even what’s certain isn’t cemented,” a distant voice spoke to him, and he clung to the supporting arm as though it were a life raft, because he knew that it was the only reason he was still standing.

If he let go, he had a feeling that he would wind up drifting one way on the tides of space, and that his consciousness would head for the hills of time, which lay in the opposite direction, and then the Gods alone only knew what would happen to them, or if they would ever meet up again.

And he knew that he should muster some form of a reply, bitting and sarcastic, but he couldn’t find those reserves within himself this time.

All that he wanted was to be sick again, then curl up and die.

“…the compulsion. It’s gone,” he caught only a part of the sentence, as Ripper shrugged him off, and left him leaning against the anti-car, “It’ll be a while before you’re yourself again, but since you’ve done…,” again the world swum out of focus, “it’s gone.”

He heard a rush of air, as the door of the anti-car opened, and he stumbled through the door, half-propelled by Ripper, although none of that power that he’d felt played a part in him; neither the power of fury, of the power of power itself.

When he came to himself again, he was on an actual bed in a reasonably comfortable room that he didn’t recognize. And as his most recent memories swum into life at the forefront of his life, he fished wildly for and actually found a bowl that didn’t look to be made out of anything that he recognized, to be sick into again.

**Devon, 2002**

“Rip… Rupert, please,” the Doctor held out an open hand towards him, “please give me the watch. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, but I think I do. I think I’m dealing with a Chaos Mage who won’t leave me in peace, and a… a… whatever you and your friend,” he glanced towards Rose, who obviously hadn’t escaped his attention, “here, are. And I think that the watch is meant to be with me. It’s talking to me, whispering, singing constantly. My head… my head is clearer, the pain’s gone. It wants to be open.”

There was nothing that he could do, as Ripper flicked the clasp open, aside from watch as the man’s face contorted with agony, and he fell to his knees, hands grasping his head, howling.

He wanted to grab Rose’s hand and run with her. He could feel an almost electric snap, as the time lock released its hold on him. Get her away safe, and then regroup, plan. But he would never have any better opportunity to talk to this man than now, and if he got out now, then he would be throwing the chance away. He glanced towards Ethan, took in the expression on his face which was one of abstract horror, and took a slow step towards the kneeling man as he drew a shuddering breath and raised his head.

“Ripper,” it was a sign of respect to use a Time Lords chosen name, and when everything teetered in the balance there was no way that he would dream of doing otherwise, “Ripper, listen to me, please. I’m the Doctor, I can help;”

“You, help?” Ripper spat, cutting him off sharply, and that bottomless look in his eyes deepened as the black passed from them “Help? All that the Time Lords ever did for me was waste up space. The earth… I can feel the earth. This planet’s singing to me, Doctor. The chords… and the discords… There’s so much life.”

He paused and tilted his head to one side, and drew a slow breath, pushing back to his feet. He grinned, and tilted his head a little further, eyes drifting half-closed.

“You, a Time Lord… You’re the last thing that I need. And… she’s calling to me. Miles, and miles and yet she’d calling. She’s been waiting for so long, my faithful ship.” His grin widened, and his eyes flashed open, going black again, “Nice try, Doctor. But I think I’ll be going now. This tiny little human life has held me captive long enough,” his grin slipped into a frown for half a heartbeat, “almost too long. But now I’ve got things to do, and places to be. There’s a whole universe out there, Doctor,” his eyes flashed darkly and the grin returned, in all its savagery, “but not for much longer.”

In an instant, the feeling of electricity which had been building in the air rushed out, and Ripper vanished with a crack of energy. It wasn’t like any teleport that he’d ever seen before. It would take more than his Screwdriver to reverse this one.

“That’s not good,” the muttered comment drew his attention back to the ground, and the Doctor narrowed his eyes at the man who was still lying flat on his back.

“You,” the Doctor grabbed him by the arm, and set him firmly back on his feet, resisting the urge to shake him, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”

**Ripper’s TARDIS, Year Unknown**

When the world righted enough that he could see again, he wasn’t sure where he was, or what the time was, or anything of the sort. The edges of the room slowly swum back into focus and he could see Ripper standing in the doorway of the room, arms crossed over his chest, simply watching.

In that moment of stillness he seemed almost normal. But it didn’t last for anywhere near long enough, of course. The moment that he saw that the young man was stirring, he stepped into the room.

“Hmm. Took you less time to shake that off then I’d have thought, boy. You’re stronger than I remembered, too.”

He pointed to a door on the far side of the room, “Get up, and clean yourself off. Then come through to the centre. There’s not a door here that will open for you that’s not meant to.”

He rose, and took two steps towards the door that Ripper had indicated then as the man turned his back and began to head back through the twisted maze of corridor, he sunk to the ground and sat with his back to the wall, simply staring at his hands. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been by his hand directly, it had still been by him. He’d been twisted into a killer.

Raising his hands and twisting them until the light glinted off them; he felt a wave of devastation threatening to engulf him. These hands were the hands of a killer, now, stained with invisible blood. And no matter how hard he tried, it would never wash off. He’d taken a human life; admittedly the guy had been a prick, but that still didn’t make it right, didn’t make it his life to take. And he’d been young; so who knew what he may have grown up into. He may have been some random thug, destined to be shot dead by pigs at the age of twenty, but he could have become… like the world ambassador for peace or something. And the point was that now no-one would ever know.

He was left with his own thoughts for a sold half-hour before the sound of footsteps on metal drew him from his reprise and sent him into a panic. Jolting to his feet, he opened the door that he was meant to be going through, just as Ripper came back into the room.

That cold gaze focused solely on him.

“Good. Glad to see you moving, even if it did take a half-hour of your time.”

His mind picked out those words, which didn’t make sense; _-of your time?_ He found himself wondering over them, even as he struggled with forming a reply in a suddenly dry mouth.

“Sorry. I… I,”

“ _You_ were moping. And I can give you that, this time. After all, first blood; it takes some getting used to. But you will. Get used to it, that is. After all, I know you; I know your hungers, your thoughts, your fears. Soon you’ll come to respect every drop of spilled blood, every taken life for exactly what it is.”

He dared not speak. And a couple of minutes later, Ripper continued, as though he’d filled in the missing part of the conversation himself.

“You want to know what it is, why it is. It’s power. Power and vengeance is what it’s all about. And I’ll make them regret my very existence, let alone the power they showed to me, taught to me.”

Ethan let out a slow exhale, and that seemed to be enough to remind Ripper that he was in the room, as his expression became slightly less distant.

“Go take that shower that I told you to. You’ve fifteen minutes until I expect you out. And this time, if you aren’t, then I can assure you that there will be consequences.”

**London, 2002**

He could feel the whole world reaching out to him, trying to ensnare him and anchor him back to reality. It always had, and alway would when he used this method of travel, but it was by far the fastest.

His TARDIS was calling from too far a distance for him to use any of the more conventional method. He had to get out of there, and get back to her, that was the only thing that he could focus on. The last thing that he needed to hear was the Doctor, whoever he may be in the scheme of things, going on about _helping_ him. The Doctor may not have been a part of the High Council, that much was obvious, but he was still a Time Lord. And he had learned not to trust any of his own species any further than he could throw them a long time ago.

With a tiny grin to himself, at his most recent memory, he quickly amended that statement. He wouldn’t trust one as far as a current Earth ant could throw one.

As the overlapping waves of darkness faded back into a clear image, and he was drawn out of the tween-time, the first thing that he became conscious of was an atmosphere of dust and age. It was obvious that wherever he was, this place wasn’t opened up very often, or for very long. As he _cracked_ into the room in an entrance that he’d once had a lot of time to practise, he threw up a billowing cloud of dust the surrounded him almost as though it were trying to hide him from his intention.

He coughed once, and waved a hand at it, focusing on its pattern, and it settled back down even quicker than it had stirred up. As it did so, he blinked and stared, taking a slow step toward his goal. He didn’t notice the trail of footprints, pressed into the layer of dust which led from the door, didn’t feel the silent wards as they screamed to life around him and their effect made Ethan, so far away shiver and wince.

He only had eyes for the car-shape, which he’d forced his TARDIS to take when it had first touched down on Earth during the sixties. Such a length of time could have very well tripped out its Chameleon Circuit, but he found that he didn’t mind the possibility that it may be stuck, even after he got her running again. The car felt… appropriate, even as most of the persona of Rupert slowly faded until it was nothing more than a distant impression, like a ghost outline left after staring at one image for too long.

Rupert… he’d been Rupert for so long that it felt almost as though he were leaving home again, for the first time. Quietly, caught in the moment, he drew a single finger through the dust on the car’s paintwork, and raised it, to blow the particles off.

Under his light touch, she hummed and he closed his eyes, focusing solely on her.


	10. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

**Chapter 9: On The Road**

In spite of what seemed to have been obvious the Doctor was standing, and flicking his screwdriver through every possible setting that it had. He couldn’t reverse his jump, he couldn’t lock him between this space and another, and he certainly couldn’t follow Ripper’s jump without a single shard of other tech.

Ethan met the Doctor’s strange expression, and raised an eyebrow at him, “Sorry, Doctor. But there’s sweet Jack that anyone can do to avoid this. And…”

“And this is with what exactly, Ethan?”

This time the Doctor actually did give him a sharp shake, hard enough that he was worried that his teeth were going to shake out and bounce across the ground, even as he pressed then together.

He looked at him, and the Doctor could see a touch of despair in his expression, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I can’t remember a tenth of it. You said… what you said was that a child didn’t deserve to remember that kind of pain. All that stays with me is a few random events, and the words that you left me with. Well, that and the dreams that I wake from wishing that the gift of memory didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry to let you down in such a way, but there’s nothing that I can do to help it. I’m happy to tell you what I remember, but obviously that’s not enough to counter established events, no matter what I did. Or do, for that matter. What’s happened had happened, and what’s happening is happening.”

When Ethan laughed, the Doctor could hear the bitterness in it. But still, he pushed the man.

“Words, you say. What words?”

He twisted away from the Doctors gaze, as though uncomfortable, and stared at Rose as she swum in and out of focus.

“I’m sorry. You… you told me to do what I had to, to keep it from him; to keep it from him as any cost. To… to…,” he let out a sigh, “it doesn’t matter. Like I said, it doesn’t make a difference.”

“Only one thing for it, then,” he said as he came to a decision.

“It’s back to the TARDIS, then?” Rose asked, as she crossed the damp grass to stand back beside him.

“It is indeed. It seems since there’s no easy way to do this, we’re going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

He turned back towards the way they’d come, and took of, stopping at the fence to glance back at Ethan, “Come on, then.”

“Trust me, when I say that’s a bad idea. I may not remember much, but I can still remember what happens when a person meets themselves. This may be only just happening for you, but for me it’s been and gone, and a couple of decades ago.”

“At the very least, do you have any idea where he may have gone?”

“London, I would think. He said that he could hear her calling, and that’s where his TARDIS is.”

He thought for a few moments, before nodding, “At least that’s one starting point. And fair enough, best not risk tearing a hole in the fabric of reality. Come on Rose; let’s get this show on the road.”

**London, 2002**

He tucked his fingers under the doorhandle and brushed his thumb over the trigger-spot on the underside which was attuned to his biological imprint, tugging the door open.

The first couple of feet really did look like a car’s interior; leather seats and metal framing. But beyond that… he watched as lights flared to life along the bottom of the wall down the first passage, as far as the eye could see, and the door closed automatically behind him, as he ducked his head and stepped inside of her.

Where to first, then?

He mused to himself, as he remembered a bar years ago, and the boy who had saved a human from a thrashing. A rebel, who had been more than willing to help another like-minded person raise a little hell, and now that he had the chance he felt that it was well past time to return the favour; see what destruction a human could help him wreck amongst the stars.

He came to the master control room, and flicked a few switches, bringing it to life.

Humming a tune that most people would have found mildly distracting at the least, and off-putting at the most he paused for a few minutes to remember exactly how to do this. After all, he may have done this hundreds of times before, but it _had_ been a while. He set the chronometer a little way back, hit the lock and circled around to fire the base control up. Then he closed his eyes, and sorted what he needed from what he didn’t, filing notes for the excess off to one side.

He hit a couple of buttons on this side, then circled again, raised the handbrake, gave it a few revs to warm it up properly and hit the jump start, grinning to himself as it fell into the forth dimension for the first time in far too long. He kept a careful eye on the controls, altering them where they needed it, until his TARDIS emerged into real time in the year of 1969.

He flicked the controls, easing it down, and watching its progress on the main screen as he lowered it onto the rain-soaked street, behind a half-stumbling figure that he recognized in spite of the years between them.

**Devon, 2002**

“Tear a hole in the fabric of reality? Were you actually serious?” Rose spoke again once she’d caught here breath back inside the TARDIS which they’d left parked on the cliff edge. The only bull in the field had been eyeing it up by the time they’d gotten back, but that had been easy enough to slip past, and Rose had felt her usual rush of relief as they had entered the ship, almost as though she were seeing a lost friend again.

It felt like everything would be alright, as soon as the ship was accessible again.

“Yes, I’m afraid I was. And that’s the best outcome, without anyone around that could balance the effects. I’ve heard stories of what can happen when people meet themselves, and it really isn’t attractive. If I’d actually _seen_ if myself, then I doubt that I’d be here talking to you. And if I did take what memories that I could from that man back there, then it wouldn’t have been on a whim.”

“So, you know that the Ripper’s TARDIS is in London at the moment. Is there anything that you can do to… oh, I don’t know, stop it from taking off again or something?”

“No. But I’ve feed the trace radiation that was on Ethan into my ships tracking computer; because of the unique energy signature that each individual TARDIS emits, we should be able to track it for a start.”

“And after that Doctor? After we’ve followed it as far as it can go?”

“Ideally, we should be able to get ahead of him before it reached that point.”

“And then what about in reality?”

“In reality, I don’t want to think about what might happen, what the universe could come to if we can’t. According to the stories, during his reign the Ripper wiped out thousands, Rose. Hundreds of living, breathing, intelligent, sentient races.”

She remembered him telling her, about how some points in history were fixed, and others were in flux.

It wasn’t often that she saw the Doctor as a person who feared. But right now she was seeing a man who was fallible, and afraid. And if he actually was, then that would mean that this wasn’t a part of history that was locked.


	11. TtH • Story • Legends of the Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Lords have their own myths and legends. What could make a monster want to become human? And, when everything changes again will he go back to being the same as he was before?

Chapter 10: Best Laid Plans

**Devon, 2002**

He felt numb. All the years he’d lived, all the chaos that he’d brought into peoples lives, and here he was at the beginning of the end; hell, the cause of the beginning of the end, and he was numb.

He’d thought about it, about those words, off and on over his entire life. Of course he had. After all, he may not have remembered much of actual events, but what he did remember was hard to forget.

He… he’d just never considered the possibility that this would all be his fault. Which, considering his penchant for flicking at the tail of the tiger of fate was… surprising, to say the least.

He knew that what was going to happen was going to happen and that in some far off way it had already happened. Trying to follow the subtleties of it made his brain hurt. Honestly.

Well, this time the tiger of fate had well and truly turned and bled him with its claws.

That this wasn’t good wasn’t an understatement, so much as it was 20,000 leagues under the sea.

In all honesty he also felt slightly sick, and that was saying something. It took a hell of a lot to effect him to that sort of point after everything that he seen and done. Not that he could remember much of it, but his disposition was telling in and of itself. And he had a felling that if he really wanted to, if he really put his mind to the task then he could probably dredge up most of it.

It was simply more that he didn’t want to.

After all, it had taken him this long already to regain some semblance of sanity, himself. If he wanted to test that, then there was nothing stopping him.

Nor was there anything to help him recover who he was again afterwards. Not that he was entirely sure of who he was. He hadn’t been for a long time.

As much as he was a product of himself, he was also a product of the Ripper, he knew that even if he couldn’t remember where his own influence ended and the Ripper’s began.

“Oh, Gods,” staring at the space where the watch had hit the ground and bounced, he sunk to his knees closing his eyes. He didn’t want to remember.

Even if he didn’t know anything else he still knew that.

Never mind that it would have risked damning the known universe, he should have gone. He was selfish enough that meeting himself seemed almost preferable to being trapped here, struggling to avoid his own mind, and trusting to luck that things would be solved.

“Oh, Gods.”

He didn’t care if he were repeating himself. It felt justified. After all, how many times in one lifetime could one be possibly responsible for such a cataclysm?

At that thought he found himself giggling weakly, a sound that wasn’t far from his own unique brand of insanity. He could count it, but it shouldn’t have been his own world and his own life at risk.

He hated what were for all purposes local potential apocalypses. He liked his comforts, and his world.

Which lead back to the question again, and far too late, of why he pulled such stupid risks. It couldn’t all be blamed on boredom.

Of course, if he really thought about it, then he knew. But the whole point of this exercise was to avoid thinking about it.

It was possible that he was trembling.

The possibility became a certainty, as Ripper’s; -Rupert’s red-haired Wiccan more or less exploded into the area, looking as though she were being torn between two different selves.

Understandable, too, considering the power that he knew was a part of her; there hadn’t been a single sorcerer of any reasonable power who had failed to feel it when she’d threatened to tear the world apart.

Life would be as such that he was left to deal with her, wouldn’t it? Especially when, by the feeling of her power she was still getting some stability back.

Opening his eyes so that he could see her as well as feel her he shot back to his feet, raising his hands towards her, “Look, I can explain.”

_I’m just not sure how much I can actually explain. And I doubt you’ll like it._

He kept these thoughts to himself however as he tried to work out exactly what he was going to say.

**Ripper’s TARDIS, Year Unknown**

_The stars swum before him, familiar constellations taking the place of those that he’d only learned for the trip out. Soon he would be home, back where he belonged._

_The ship hummed under his touch, as though she were waiting for him, waiting on his input although at times the transition was so smooth that she seemed to read his mind._

_He eased her back into normal space and stared at the view-screen as the stars settled into place, into their normal patterns. There was nothing that he loved more that the enormity of space, and the way that it made him feel like he was just one tiny part of a massive equation, even when he could feel it breathing around him._

_He didn’t matter, and what he did didn’t matter. He was just one person in the tide of the star-strewn sky. No one would have to know._

_He anticipated that sweet moment, coming back to his own sanctuary._

_The years in between had all been nothing but a twisted nightmare. There was nothing wrong here, nothing that he could see._

_He tried to hold onto that feeling of everything-was-right, hoping that for once if he just believed it well enough then it would be so._

_As the TARDIS dropped closer to the planet’s surface, in spite of the fact that he wanted to spin her away and leave everything as he remembered it for the first time in his life he prayed to something that hopefully existed out there that was more powerful than he._

He felt the footsteps which woke him from his doze, echoing against the metal surface as much as he heard them.

It wouldn’t do to sleep around the boy, even though he doubted that he could do him any real damage. Or that he would be willing to. _Not yet, anyway,_ he amended, as he raised his head and watched the boy’s approach through half-slitted eyes.

It would have felt strange, already knowing this boy that he’d only just met if he weren’t used to the interplay of time.

Obviously the boy had finished up and come out to the control room, just like he’d told him to.

That was good.

He liked obedience, truly.

He could work with obedience.

He was shivering, and his hair was still damp. And that dull, blank look in the boy’s eyes told him what he’d already suspected, that he wasn’t ready to hurt anyone else again, yet. Not even him.

Strike that; especially not him, because if he ever hoped to get out of here, he would need someone who knew how to control the ship, unless he wanted to be trapped here.

The occasional trembling flick that he gave his hands gave the impression that he was still trying to get them clean, trying to shake off unseen blood.

“I see you’re done,” he rose smoothly to his feet, and the boy started, as though he’d thought him still resting.

“What’s it to you?” he stared at the ground beside Ripper, looking like he was trying to take up the smallest amount of space possible, as though by drawing in on himself he thought that he might be able to escape his attention and, in hand with that his wrath.

Still, at the words he found himself grinning, remembering a seventeen year-old, dressed in black jeans and a red top, knuckles blood-red, snarling the words at a man who was easily several pounds heavier and several inches taller, who had been plastered to the ground, nose crooked, lip split, and blood on the ground around him.

He was still paying enough attention though, to see the boy cringe back as the grin spread over his face. At that he felt a rush of something that was as close to satisfaction as he would ever come in the course of a normal day.

This boy has supported him throughout his time as a human, and he would reward him appropriately, no doubt about that. He had made him save the human that he had been, out of self-interest.

He had to leave one established event for the lock to hold. The rest could support itself.

The time around when he’d turned to a human life was blurred, but that didn’t matter. There would have been a reason for it, but it had been so long ago by the standards of linear time that he doubted it mattered now.

Simply for the sake of it he nudged the ship out of the vortex and gave the boy his first proper view of space.

He felt the disruption of the air as his breath caught in his throat.

“It’s something, isn’t it?”

His voice was completely even, completely level, even normal.

For a few moments he felt the boy’s interest as he forgot his circumstances, staring out at the vast blackness, lit only by unfeeling cold blue and white spots.

The two stood side by side in what was a companionable silence, the boy thinking and Ripper planning, until he spoke again.

“So which one of their precious jewels do you think we should extinguish first?”

It looked like instinct, as Ethan drew away from him again, back towards the doorway.

He chuckled, and the sound was as cold and unfeeling as the stars themselves.


End file.
